What Shouldn't Be
by grappelade
Summary: The lone wanderer finds herself somewhere she never expected she'd be, and she couldn't be happier. Absolutely nothing could be wrong. Everything is perfect.


"Be careful!"  
I call out, watching a small figure bumble down a cracked and crooked driveway to his waiting ride, a small red tricycle. I smile as he mounts the seat and kicks at the pedals that are barely out of reach.  
'Who is he?'  
A question surfaces from the back of my mind, making me smile even wider because it's just so silly. I respond out loud, "Charon's son, of course."  
I shake my head in an endearing manner as the child finally manages to get the tricycle to move, and pedals in circles with the brightest sparkle in his green eyes and I can't help but admire the way his dark red hair is tossed by the wind.  
"Look, ma!" He calls, Charon's accent coloring his words.  
"I see!" I yell back, turning back towards the house.  
'The house?'  
I turn around this time, the question was so loud and clear I could've sworn someone had said it out loud, but I know it's my own voice. "Yes, the house. Our house." I attempt to smile again, because I'm just so happy, but it's harder to muster this time.  
'Our house?'  
My own voice is becoming irritating, all these questions! I quickly pull open the front door to our house. "Yes. See? With a proper living room, a kitchen, and there are even bedrooms upstairs!" I take in the sight of my house with pride and something else. Something nagging and itching. The house is empty, the walls have holes, and there are papers littered across the floor.  
"Isn't it beautiful?"  
Something is wrong.  
I feel a knot rise in my throat, and my stomach flips. I can't tell what's wrong. I don't understand.  
I dash back outside, worried about my son, but the sight puts all of my fears at ease. Charon has come home, he picks up his son, trike and all, and is carrying him towards me.  
My husband is very handsome in his suit, and he has the prettiest hair.  
'Husband?'  
"Yes… husband…"  
I begin to doubt my own answers. Charon is not my husband, he is a ghoul, and he is wearing armor. My forced smile hurts my face now. He sets down our son on his trike, and when I look down at him I catch a glimpse at my own clothes. The dusty blue dress I was wearing is now hard combat armor, and the dish rag I was wringing in my hands is my assault rifle.  
'Yes, your rifle.'  
I nod at my own voice, my rifle is warm, I have just shot it. This is comforting.  
When I look back up there is no child, there is no tricycle, and Charon is standing with his back to me.

With a gasp I sit upright in my bed. It feels as if my heart has stopped, and a wall of grief hits me like a weight to the chest. Dogmeat jerks his head up at me, his ears upright and attentive.  
Struggling for air I reach out to him and he jumps onto my bed. By the time my fingers are nestled into his dirty fur I realize there are tears rolling down my face. I clench my eyes shut and hold my dog tightly.  
My heart grieves for a child that does not exist. My mind feels torn in two, I have never wanted a family, I have never wanted a little piece of suburbia, and most importantly I have never harbored any sort of romantic feeling for the ghoul who is sleeping in the next room. As if my emotions are betraying me, I sob louder when I reaffirm that I do not have feelings for Charon.  
Dogmeat licks my face and I nearly wail. The familiar creak of metal as Charon walks across the metal floor gets closer to my door. The rational part of me forces my hands to dab at my tears with my blanket, but the other part wants nothing more than to fling myself into his arms once he is close enough.  
A light knock on my door and I can only hiccup in response, my pulse is skyrocketing from the suspense.  
Sucking in as much air as I can I reply with a short "Come in" that comes out cracked and croaky.  
I feel my face heat even more, he's never seen me cry before, and it's selfish of me to assume that he'd even care. He's probably just here to request that I suffer in silence. A part of me is disappointed when he steps into my room and looks me over with nothing but concern on his destroyed face.  
"You okay?"  
I want to be angry, but I don't know why. I only shake my head and try to keep myself from hyperventilating, the lack of air is making my lungs burn.  
He takes a cautious step forward, but the pointed glare I give him holds him in place.  
It registers that he's shirtless, I've seen him without his armor before, but never completely bare.  
Immediately overcome by guilt I snivel and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I want to close the distance between us, I want to be comforted more than anything else in the world, but the shadow of the emotions I had in my dream, and the bleeding hole they left when they were ripped from me, make me want to keep my distance.  
Charon looks conflicted and confused, but he isn't acting like he's going to leave, and that's what matters at the moment.  
I want to explain everything to him now, tell him about my dream, and how I feel, but I can't catch my breath long enough. Breathless and afraid that he'll leave me, I stretch my quivering arms out to him.  
Almost immediately he's in them, his own massive arms around my soft middle, and the crook of his neck open for me to press my face into as my body is wracked with sobs.  
I didn't keep track of how long we stayed there, he is kneeled next to my bed and I held onto him for dear life as I cried until I was too exhausted to go on. As my sobs dissipate into hiccups and sniffles he moves, slowly and careful, until he is sitting on my bed. He pulls my head into his lap and runs his fingers through my hair, the rough surface of his calloused and destroyed fingers pull and snag on the strands sometimes, but I don't care. I close my eyes and let myself be comforted.  
Once my breathing is under control I place a hand on his arm and feel the muscle underneath my touch twitch.  
"Hey" I mutter inaudibly, but he sees my lips move and smiles ever so slightly.  
"Hey." He responds in kind, so quiet his awful voice can't manage to actually make a sound.  
"I'm sorry," I sniffle and sit up, "I know you don't like to be woken up." My voice cracks again and the burn of tears threaten again.  
"I don't, especially if it's because you're crying, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to fix it." He says it endearingly, but the indifferent words pull at my wrecked heart.  
"You want to tell me what happened?" his question is innocent, but tears begin to stream down my cheeks again. I force myself to sit up and wipe them away with the heel of my hand.  
"It was a dream." I mumbled. His bare chest is hard to see in the dim lighting, but I can make out that atleast half of it is exposed muscle. The skin on his shoulders is almost completely gone, which is a striking contrast to the almost completely covering of skin of his chest. Thoughtlessly I press my lips to his shoulder and feel him tense, I can almost hear the fabric of his pants as he grips his knees.  
"You sure you okay?" He rumbles, and I can tell he's uncomfortable. I nod, resting my cheek on the spot on his shoulder I just kissed. "Yeah, I'll be okay."  
Even though I know he's not happy about my displays of affection I reach for his hand. He holds it still for me as I thread my fingers through. For a moment he only sits there, staring at my much smaller hand gripped tightly onto the red and angry looking remains of his own. With a slight squeeze I coax him into curling his fingers around my hand as well.  
We sit in silence.  
"I don't love you, Charon." I blurt out.  
"I know." His voice is solid and sure, even though we're both confused and maybe a little scared.  
"But."  
"But?"  
"This is nice."  
"It is nice."  
His mimicking makes me smile and I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter. After another moment sitting with him like that, exhaustion begins to take over. I yawn deeply and feel Charon stir next to me.  
To me surprise he shifts behind me, and pulls me down next to him. We squeeze ourselves together on my small bed, he reaches an arm around me to hold him next to me, and then he grasps my hand again, threading his fingers through mine and holding on tight.  
Right before I drift off to sleep I think about how warm his chest is pressed to my back, and can only pray that I don't dream this time.

A week later I find myself sitting outside of the bar with Gob, puffing at a cigarette, and talking about his day. Once there is a lull in conversation I glance around to make sure that no one is nearby, and lean in close. "Hey, can I ask you something? It's about ghouls."  
He shrugs, brushing some of the ash from my cigarette off the railing, "Go ahead."  
"Ghouls are sterile, right?"  
He looks up at me the way I knew he would, and I wave my hand before he can ask any questions.  
"I know, I know, just. Answer the question."  
"Yeah. Ghouls can't have kids…"  
I nod and things are silent for a while.  
"Can I ask why you wanted to know that?"  
"No reason." I put out my cigarette.  
As I walk back to my house, I say goodbye to the bouncy, red-haired, baby boy that still smiles at me whenever I close my eyes.


End file.
